"Rudra Malhotra naam toh suna hoga ?"
Rudra is the epitome of charisma-outgoing, charming, and unabashedly playful. He has an infectious laugh and a quick wit that makes him the life of the party. His flirty nature often leads to playful banter and...
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Four months had passed since that fateful day, yet the wounds remained raw and unhealed. Rudra's quest for vengeance had culminated in Rahul's demise within the cold, unforgiving walls of the jail. But his triumph came at a steep price - the chasm between him and Ruhanika had grown insurmountable.
Ruhanika's world had shrunk to the confines of her room, where she existed in a state of suspended animation. Her days blended together in a numbing routine:
Wake up.
Eat.
Stare out the window.
Cry.
Sleep.
The cycle repeated, a relentless reminder of her shattered soul.
Physically, she was a shadow of her former self. Dark circles underscored her sunken eyes, once bright and radiant. Her slender frame had withered, weight lost to the abyss of grief. Hair fell in clumps, a testament to the anguish that ravaged her mind and body.
The wound on her stomach was healed but leaving a scar. The scar which always makes her remember about that ugly accident. It's true to be said that healing wounds doesn't mean forgetting an accident.
Sleep eluded her, a cruel mistress that taunted and teased. Ruhanika's eyes, once sparkling with life, now dull and lifeless, reflected the emptiness within.
Her heart, once full of hope and love, now beat with a mournful cadence, a constant reminder of all she had lost.
Rudra's visits became less frequent, his presence a painful reminder of what they had shared and lost. The distance between them grew, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.
Ruhanika's silence was oppressive, a heavy shroud that suffocated her. No sighs escaped her lips, no whispers of sorrow. Only an oppressive stillness, a testament to the desolation within.
In this prison of grief, Ruhanika was trapped, unable to escape the memories that haunted her. Her soul, once free and wild, now languished, crippled by the weight of her loss.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Ruhanika's existence became a mere shadow of its former self. Her story, once woven with threads of love and laughter, now unravelled, thread by thread, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of what once was.
Rudra, once the embodiment of mischief and joy, now wandered the earth a shattered soul. The eyes that once sparkled with playful naughtiness now lay dull and empty, haunted by the ghost of his lost child. His voice, once full of laughter and teasing, had fallen silent, unable to muster the strength to speak.
The carefree nature that once defined him had vanished, replaced by a suffocating weight of grief. He became a phantom in his own home, creeping in after Ruhanika had succumbed to sleep, and slipping out before she awoke. The pain of facing her, of confronting the chasm that had grown between them, was too overwhelming to bear.
